


Becoming Heir Malfoy: Lessons and Masks

by The Dark Marquise (SkitSquad)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Malfoy Family, Pre-Hogwarts, Young Draco Malfoy, disciplinary spanking of a child, my Malfoy headcanons, social situations make no sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11611857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkitSquad/pseuds/The%20Dark%20Marquise
Summary: Young Draco didn't understand what he was doing wrong. All of the social niceties his father seemed to expect just didn't make any sense. But he was determined to do better, to live up to the Malfoy name, to make his father proud. Response to a friend's requested prompt, posted here mostly for feedback. Warnings: Off-screen heavily implied child abuse.





	Becoming Heir Malfoy: Lessons and Masks

Draco was very confused. He had thought for sure he’d done so well this time. He had been quiet and still and “such a handsome little boy”, as his mother and Mrs. Rosier had cooed annoyingly in his face after mother had dressed him in that hated shirt with those awful buttons, and he had even answered the pointless ‘small talk questions’ that weren’t even interesting from all the adults. It seemed that answering questions had been the problem… apparently Mrs. Jugson had _not_ actually wanted to know how he was enjoying the boring party. He scowled and then winced as he recalled his father’s anger over his answer. She had asked! He thought indignantly.

Laying on his stomach on the smooth but slightly too soft surface of his perfectly-made bed, since at the moment he most definitely did not want to be sitting even though he had been told to sit there and think about how his rudeness had shamed the family, Draco absentmindedly traced small but nearly perfect circles onto the comforter with his right index finger. He knew he was supposed to be thinking about what he had done wrong and how not to do it again, but he wasn’t. He really didn’t understand it at all, because father always said to answer a grownup’s question and he was not allowed to tell lies so he had had to say that he was bored. How was that rude? It was just true. If she didn’t want to know that, she should have asked something else or not asked at all. 

He was five years old now, and proud that his mother and father had said that was old enough to occasionally appear in public as a member of the Malfoy family, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to do as his father said and “represent the family well, to bring us the pride of having a worthy heir” if he wasn’t supposed to do it by following the same rules that had always been the rules for talking to grownups. The only things that had been different were that it was a party, and it was his birthday, and he was a big boy now, and Mrs. Jugson wasn’t family. One of those things had made the “answer questions right away” and “always tell the truth” rules change, and one of those things had been what had gotten him into very big trouble. The trouble was that he didn’t know which one, or what the new rules were. His hair tickled and burned on his forehead and his bottom hurt very much this time, and he was very sad that his happy birthday morning with delicious breakfast and new junior quidditch gear had turned into this big mess that had made his father so angry. Tired of messing up, Draco decided that he really only wanted one thing this year – to be a good son and stop making mistakes that got his parents mad and him sad and confused and in big trouble. It didn’t matter if the rules and even the reasons didn’t make any sense, or if he thought it all seemed silly. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys always got what they wanted, and what he wanted was to be the kind of Malfoy heir that he seemed to be supposed to be, so somehow he was going to figure out how to act like his parents wanted and make his father proud.

His father summoned him downstairs to the study then, and as Draco stepped into the room he felt squirmy and very uncomfortable. It was too warm and the silence was too loud and sharp. Even the air felt angry. He stood in front of his father’s desk, next to his mum who was seated in the chair his father always said intimidated visitors. This fact seemed to please his father for some reason. Draco wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but he knew he didn’t like feeling small and nervous in that chair that was too big, too tall, and not soft like it looked. His mother never looked uncomfortable – aunt Bellatrix said that was because she was something called graceful, and if graceful meant always beautiful and able to seem like she was always comfortable and never confused, Draco agreed and thought that graceful was quite a good thing to be. He studied his shoes instead of looking at either of his parents. If he looked at his mum now, she might want to hug him, and he already felt like too much stuff was touching him so he didn’t want hugs. And looking at his father’s face usually felt too hot and red and gave him a headache and an annoying roaring sound in his ears. 

Lucius turned from the window to look appraisingly on his son standing across from his desk silently with his head bowed. It was fitting that the boy be ashamed of his behavior, of course, and appear before the head of his family humbly to seek a judgment and forgiveness for the embarrassment he had brought on the Malfoy name this day, yet Lucius could not help but feel this was more proof his son was incapable of making a showing as a proper Malfoy heir. Yes, Narcissa’s plan was both necessary and best.

“Look at me, Draco.” Lucius said coolly, breaking the silence after a few moments.

Draco forced himself to look up so he could see his father’s face. He didn’t look angry. But it still felt like he was angry. Faces were too confusing. And most of them hurt.

Infuriated by the boy’s defiance as the child looked in his basic direction but obstinately refused to make eye contact as he had been ordered, Lucius repeated his instructions in a low tone that pulsed with power, fury, and expectation. “You will look at me when I am speaking to you, boy.”

Draco was angry now because his father was always telling him he was doing something he wasn’t or not doing something he was. “I am! I can see you, and –” the question isn’t that what looking means died in his throat at his father’s sudden movement. 

“Lucius, don’t.” His mother’s voice was like water or silk. Her hand reached out and gently grasped his chin. “Make eye contact with people who speak with you, especially adults. Remember? Look at your father, Draco.” She positioned his face for him. Well, this was awkward and weird and not very comfortable. He tried to memorize the angle of his head just now, and how this position felt. If this was how he was supposed to look at people it did not make sense, so he would have to make himself remember it somehow. Neither of his parents were yet satisfied, however. 

His father attempted to yell something. His mother cut him off before he could. Draco was relieved because between the angry air and the yelling and the fact that his hair kept itching him, he was really starting to get a bad headache. At least his mother’s voice was somewhat soothing even though she was telling him off too. “I can tell you are upset, but you may not continue to be rude to your father. We make eye contact with people who are speaking to us. Now, tell me why you are being disrespectful and refusing to do this.”

“I don’t understand,” Draco muttered. Everything was too much and he felt like his head was about to be just goo and his entire body was going to explode.

Narcissa took a few deep breaths. She didn’t get the sense that her son was being purposefully defiant; he seemed to genuinely not understand what he was supposed to do here. How could he not understand eye contact? They had defined the phrase before. And how could she explain something that was so simple? She looked up at Lucius, trying to pay attention and think of a way she could describe what she was doing. Well, if she couldn’t explain something instinctive she could at least explain a way to fake it until basic instincts kicked in. Blinking once to mentally steel herself for something likely to be frustrating, she dropped her hand from Draco’s chin and placed an arm around his shoulders to turn him to look at her. She felt him tense, but she didn’t particularly care. He was upset, he knew he was in some trouble for his rudeness, and he was defensive and obstinate about receiving correction. That didn’t matter now. Pureblood high society was a world of sharks who would take advantage of even a slight weakness on anyone’s part. The heirs and heiresses of the great families were fair game to judge both themselves and their families by as soon as they had made their official first foray into society at age five, so Draco needed to learn this, and as his mother she had primary responsibility for teaching it to him. He would need it to function at his best and to present the Malfoy family at their best, after all, and Narcissa wanted nothing but the best for her son.

“Keep your chin up,” she again reached out to gently hold his chin and show him what she meant, positioning his head where it needed to be. “Now, do you see my nose?” Lucius huffed impatiently. She ignored him. 

Draco nodded. Of course he saw her nose, what in the world was this? 

A verbal answer would have been more appropriate, but she saw no sense in making that an issue right in the middle of dealing with this one. “If you cannot or will not look at someone’s eyes while you converse, at the very least ensure that your eyes are focused just slightly below the point where the nose meets the face just between the eyes. The bridge of the nose may be best. See?” She lightly touched the referenced point on her own face. “That is not exactly perfect, but it will likely be at least appropriate. Now you try.” She gestured for him to turn around again and look at his father once more. 

He tried the nose trick. It made his eyes burn a little and his eye muscles hurt, but it seemed to work because his father didn’t complain anymore. Draco was pretty relieved. He may not have liked it much, but at least now he understood what he was supposed to do when people talked about eye contact. His father curtly informed him that he would be receiving etiquette lessons starting next week, a few years early but essential so he could make the family proud, and then dismissed him back to his room.

_Look at their nose because that is between their eyes and it will look like you’re doing this eye contact thing._ Draco catalogued that away in his brain. Then, he practiced. He drew a face on his mirror and he tried to hold his head and his chin the way his mother had while he stared at the face’s nose. It wasn’t a very good face because he had drawn it himself, and it had a wobbly sort of nose and slightly uneven eyes, but still Draco practiced. When his mother came into his room a few days later, he got a mild scolding for drawing on his mirror and she ordered Dobby to wash it off. Still, Draco practiced. He cut up one of his photos of his parents so there was a part with just his father’s face, and he had Dobby enlarge it and stick it to the mirror. And he practiced. _Look at their nose._

When Draco was summoned to his father’s study next it was for their first formal etiquette lesson even though pureblood heirs normally didn’t start those lessons with the head of their family until they turned eight. Before the lesson, Draco had summoned his courage to shyly ask his father if he was getting better at doing the eye contact thing right. His father had stared at him for a very long time before he nodded once and said that it was acceptable. And Draco had to try hard not to smile even though he was beaming inside, because practicing had worked. Now he knew for sure that if he just learned each rule and practiced it a lot he could be the sort of son and heir his father wanted. He promised himself he wouldn’t let himself fail at this – he couldn’t.

_“Introduce yourself by your surname first.”_ Starting from the very first lesson, Draco carefully kept a list of each rule his father taught him. After each lesson, he would practice the new rules he was learning until he had each thing memorized. Drawing new faces on his mirror, and promising himself he would remember to wash them off this time before his mother could see, he practiced introducing himself. “I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” _A pureblood’s family name is the most important immediate thing about them when you meet someone new. What family you are from tells people in the right circles most of what they need to know about you, and your own personal actions should only add to that. Always introduce yourself with your last name first and, outside of Hogwarts, refer to all but your closest friends by their surnames as well. The first person to ask someone to call them by their first name is showing that they believe they are from the less important family._

At the second lesson Draco asked his father if he could practice introductions like they had gone over last time. With an elegant nod, his father introduced himself calmly, then Draco thought he saw him smile slightly as he said in a cool tone with little inflection but strong confidence thanks to his hours of practice, “I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Apparently, Draco even did the handshake properly, because his father had no complaints. He was very proud of himself, and he thought maybe he had made his father proud. Or at least he hoped he had.

_“The response to ‘How are you?’ is “Very well, thank you.’ The response to a question about if you are enjoying anything about the event you are at is always ‘Yes, thank you.’ Then you ask the other person a question about them.”_ After that lesson, Draco wrote scripts. He wrote lots of scripts for all the confusing small talk questions he remembered grownups asking him. Especially the ones he hadn’t known how to answer, and the ones he had answered wrong. He practiced the scripts with the faces on his mirror too. It was hard to remember the scripts and at the same time remember to look at the face’s nose so it looked like he was looking at its eyes. He practiced so many times he finally memorized many of the scripts. Then it was easier. _When people ask how you are they are doing it to fill up the silence because silence seems rude. They want to know something short and happy or neutral, then they care more about talking about themselves. Don’t say anything with too many details, because there is value to being mysterious. Don’t complain or say anything gross or sad, because people usually want to stay happy. Say that you are doing “very well thank you” and then ask about them. You learn information about people better if you listen instead of talk and let them ramble on. Then you can use that information later._ Draco realized he had a question when he decided his scripts weren’t quite perfect to fit the rule, and he knew he would have to ask his father next lesson.

Lucius nodded approvingly when Draco asked how he was supposed to know what to ask someone to make small talk with them. At least the boy was paying attention and putting effort into learning these things. The elder Malfoy was in his element as he first began explaining to his son how to learn more about someone than they necessarily wanted you to know, through only the most benign of interactions, and how to use information like currency, to gain influence and power, to maintain the upper hand at all times. _“Listen more than you talk. By the time you need to know something about someone, they probably already told you plenty.”_ This wasn’t really something Draco could practice between lessons. But he tried to keep the rule in mind so that every time he had to attend a stuffy adult party, during the time that he was required to stand around and look interested in what the grownups were saying before the kids were allowed to go and play, he would try to learn two new things about everyone he had to talk to. He tried to pretend it was a game. Once he got good at remembering the new facts all night until he got home and could write them down, it actually became kind of fun. _Study people. Find out what they value. Ask them about things they care about or about people in their lives, and they will think that you think they are important enough to remember. If people feel like they are important to you, they will more easily do things you want them to do._

Over the next few years, Lucius taught his heir not only the basics of social interactions but most of the picky, formal etiquette rules that only the elite of their society even bothered with anymore. He learned how to differentiate social superiors from peers from inferiors, and the differences in how he could interact with each without openly snubbing the latter two groups – openly being the key word in Lucius’ mind. He learned to gallantly kiss a magical-raised girl or woman’s hand when it was appropriately presented, and the slight half bow of the head to perform in alternate greeting if the lady were so uncouth that it was not. He learned the art of the handshake – though Lucius did not realize that the reason his son internalized this so well was because he broke it down into a meticulous list of written rules. As the boy showed mastery of each new topic, Lucius was grudgingly pleased with his performance. 

Draco just hoped he was finally making his father proud. As time went on, it became rarer that he would be in trouble for some faux pas or another after one of the parties his parents dragged him to so he could put in an appearance before running off with the other children. His father was upset with him less often, but he didn’t seem to be specifically pleased with him much more frequently than ever. Someday, Draco hoped, he could do well enough to hear more than just “adequate” or “acceptable”. On days when even that weak approval came with the slightest of smiles, though, he had learned that that was likely as much as he could expect and he tried to be pleased. If only Lucius were a more effusive and less guarded and stoic sort of parent, Draco never would have been left slightly disappointed unable to read the pride that, though rarely, did sometimes shine in his father’s eyes.

By the time Draco was eight years old everyone marveled at how mature the Malfoy heir was. Even though kids his age had not even started etiquette lessons properly, the young Malfoy acquitted himself well in adult company and was poised beyond his years. Other children his age found him a bit still, but they were also impressed by him. He was far smoother and more at ease with everything they were just learning, and it seemed like more proof the Malfoys were simply superior. No one could tell how unnatural he found it all. No one knew he spoke so well because he knew his lines, because he had scripts. No one knew about his head start on years’ worth of lesson or the long hours he had practiced. No one knew that the calm, cool, collected, slightly superior and slightly aloof Draco Malfoy was far more similar to his peers than he let on. In many respects, he was just like them, a young and sometimes confused child just trying to make it in his father’s world… a world that often made little sense to him without the aid of his secret list of rules and a world that most certainly had not been structured to be comfortable for him.


End file.
